


Perfectly Executed (Mostly)

by perceptivefics



Series: Bionics and Bluebirds [1]
Category: Campaign (Podcast), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perceptivefics/pseuds/perceptivefics
Summary: Zero takes Blue out for shooting practice at his employer's insistence. He proceeds to have several legitimate fears over the prospect of Blue handling a weapon.





	Perfectly Executed (Mostly)

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping my toes in the water for this podcast that has me gripped by my soul with some Blue and Zero. There will probably be more with these two evil jerks from me in the future. This one features the dorkier side of Blue, because I CAN DO THAT.
> 
> I don't actually remember what kind of blaster Zero has in "kaynin", if any?? I'm just saying he probably has one stashed somewhere that he never uses because vibrosword. And also that it's a heavy blaster because why not. Idk. It sounds more badass than a regular blaster. Who remembers the Carnifex?? (That's not Star Wars. I'm sorry.)
> 
> I cannot be faulted for my probably five-threat xenology roll on Ganks, Wookiepedia was largely unhelpful.

Zero couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without showing this kid how to shoot.

 

Granted, it wasn’t exactly his responsibility to teach Blue how to fend for himself. Was he paid handsomely to do whatever the little brat told him to? Yes. Did that often include keeping him from harm’s way? Absolutely. And did this include the idea that perhaps it would be prudent to teach Blue how to handle a basic blaster, on the off chance Zero couldn’t get to him in time, and he needed to defend himself?

 

Okay so that last one was a stretch. It was mostly grounded in the idea that Zero didn’t know what heart palpitations felt like, but he was quite certain he got halfway to them every time this fussy be-freckled asshole talked big game, waving around all 100 pounds of him soaking wet like he could take on a charging bantha. He just didn’t fancy the idea of his most reliable source of steady paychecks getting unexpectedly offed on a mission because he got a touch too frisky for his own good.

 

Except now that Zero was actually working with Blue on a private shooting range, watching him try to handle himself, he thought _Sweet Maker, I’ve single-handedly shuttled him to an early death._

 

So, to rephrase the initial thought process: Zero couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without showing Blue how to shoot, and he now wondered why he couldn’t leave it at this and let well enough alone.

 

“Are you sure that this is the most reliable design they have on the market these days?” Asked Blue, turning the _offensively standard-issue_ blaster around in his hands. Zero felt his heart clench in his chest. :| popped up on his visor display, inadequate in expressing his lack of amusement, though it would have to do.

 

“It’s a basic pistol, Blue,” Zero replied. “Not really anything special goin’ on. You - you don’t _need_ anything special,” he added, hoping he would pick up on the hint of _don’t even think about it, or I will slap you._

 

Blue hemmed and hawed, pursing thin lips as he took aim with it at the target across the way again. Zero watched, with physically trying levels of patience, as he raised up every red flag of a rookie blaster user. Both hands, bad trigger finger, one eye shut, shit posture, the whole nine yards. Force give him strength but this kid was the most painfully obvious politician Zero ever worked for, and he was getting officially sanctioned into his Minister position _next month._

 

If not for that last bit, Zero told himself, he would have quit by now altogether.

 

“It just doesn’t...feel good?” Said Blue, regarding the blaster he held with both hands with a critical eye.

 

Zero puffed out a long, heavy sigh, muffled by his helmet. “And how’s that?” He asked, keeping patient, but only just.

 

“Well, look!” Blue waved in indication to the target set up for him, now riddled with blaster holes, all _wildly_ spaced apart from one another. “I think the kick is too much,” he explained, sounding for all the world confident in his assessment. “It’s missed every shot I made. I think I need something more stable.”

 

Zero tried _so hard_ not to laugh. He was only half successful. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s just a case of you being a bad shot.”

 

Blue turned on him so fast he almost got a few hairs out of place, wearing an expression so hard and hurt that Zero almost felt pity for him. Sometimes handling Blue (because that was exactly what it was) was frustrating, but more or less effortless. Pretty much dealing with a stubborn adult customer who paid him good checks as per the usual. Other times, it was like soothing a fussy human toddler before bedtime. This moment fell under the latter category. “But you’ll get _better,”_ he amended. “With practice.”

 

“I’m just saying that I don’t think this is the best model for _me,_ that’s all.”

 

Zero pointed out: “You’ve had it in your hand for _literally_ less than fifteen minutes.”

 

“Well, you know, sometimes you just know these things!” Cried Blue.

 

Poor, stubborn bastard just didn’t want to admit he was a bad shot. Zero wasn’t surprised. “Blue, you are literally holding the most standard of standard-issue blasters available to Imperial troops,” he said, tone panning flat. “You won’t find anything better.”

 

“Ahh!” Blue waved the pistol at him. Or in his direction, anyway. Zero _leaned_ back, three red exclamation points flashing on his display. He casually reached out to cup his hand over the other's, forcing his pistol arm down before he popped off a live shot. Namely, _at him._ Blue kept on talking like he didn’t notice, which could be true. Or he was just distracted by his own ever-rattling train of thought. “Now _that,_ I don’t believe!”

 

“Well, you’d better.” Zero replied. “Because you’re not going to have access to better from your position.”

 

“Also not true!” Blue wagged the pistol at him again. Zero pushed his hand down. Again. “Theoretically, once I’m well-established and I’ve got the right connections, I bet I could have anything I wanted outside of the standard issue.”

 

Oh _hell_ no.

 

“Rephrase: _I won’t let you_ have access to anything better.”

 

Blue peeled his lips apart into that trademark cocky grin of his. The one that lit up his eyes like devilish little festival lights and - under the right circumstances - put an almost _scary_ look on his pretty, thin features. “Oh, Zero, your dogged determination just warms me to my core sometimes.”

 

Zero gnashed his teeth behind his visor and made a noise, confusing parts endeared by and unappreciative of the sass. His visor thrummed to a solid wall of unpleasant orange before darkening again. Technically, though, he had a point. If push came to shove, he might not be able to keep Blue from doing something horrendously stupid as far as acquisitioning the actual weapons. Could he prevent the kid from using them, though? Abso-friggin’-lutely, he could. “Okay, but you _really_ don’t _need_ anything beyond standard issue?”

 

“What if I _wanted_ something that wasn’t standard issue?” Asked Blue.

 

A gravelly humming noise droned out of Zero, tense and sharp and unyielding. Blue could _hear_ that his jaw was clenched.

 

“Just to try!” Blue stuck his hands up - pistol-holding one included. “Just to see!”

 

Zero groaned, **> :|** flickering over his visor as he clapped a hand down over the blaster. He aimed it up ( _away_ from him and the brat) and physically wedged his finger under the one Blue had on the trigger to lift it. _“Safety!”_ He hissed, “Force sakes! Next time you wave that thing in my direction like that I’m taking you back to the ship.”

 

Apparently realizing his error, Blue’s mouth formed into a little ‘O’ as he looked down. “Ah - uhh - _kriff,_ where is it again?”

 

“It’s -” Zero started to guide his hand, but his employer jumped five steps ahead of him to the completely wrong part of the pistol. “You - no. It - _here,_ right _here,_ Blue.”

 

“I _know!”_ He switched the safety on with Zero’s guidance, and the assassin for hire let out a short sigh of relief. Maybe now he wouldn’t have horrifying flashing imagery in his head of Blue shooting him at close range and panicking about it. It wouldn’t _kill_ him; heavens no, he’d dealt with far worse than a blaster shot. But even the most minorly annoying damage would still hurt - plus, he had no interest in finding out what kind of face Blue might have in the event that he accidentally shot his best man.

 

“Anyway.” Blue continued on, as he did. More routine than any clone trooper blaster Zero could conjure was the fact that once his employer got on an idea, he was guaranteed not to switch off until he found something else. And that could take _forever._

 

Zero interrupted him, just to put in an important mention: “You are gonna give me gray kriffin’ hairs, man.”

 

Blue paused a bit, and then, with a genuine look of curiosity: “Do Ganks really go gray from stress or age? How does that look?”

 

Zero’s visor pinged with **> :[** followed by a yellow interrobang. “Wow, that’s kinda out of nowhere don’t you think?”

 

“It’s an honest question!”

 

“I was using a turn of phrase!” Zero argued.

 

“And now I’m curious!” Said Blue. “You know there’s not many records outside of your own about what you _look_ like, is that so offensive?”

 

 _“Outside of my own?”_ Zero tested, a circular emoji with a single raised eyebrow burning out at Blue from his visor display.

 

Blue paused, and then with lips pressed together: “Not many records... _outside_ of the Gank _homeworld,_ or - you know what I mean! There’s a few. I’ve looked at them in passing. It was ages ago. But of course there’s variances, and I’m…” Blue scoffed, almost indignant. “I’m not saying _you_ in particular look like that, or that _all Ganks_ are the same, goodness no! That would be blatantly ignorant! Who do you even take me for?”

 

It was correction enough; overdone, but expectant of Blue. Though now Zero would admit he was curious. Because this subject had never come up before, and the timing was a little peculiar, with his promotion already scheduled. He assumed until now that Blue didn’t really care. They had a good arrangement and he always got done what needed doing, so - was there a problem? Or was this just a case of a long-time employer getting naturally nosy? (Had to be the nosy bit, knowing Blue, when he thought about it.)

 

He leveled Blue with a look. No LED display and it wasn’t like he could really _see_ him, but Blue could _feel_ it, the way Zero pinned him with a stare. “Are you trying to ask me what I look like under the uniform?”

 

Blue stopped, still holding his practice pistol. He turned his head, regarding Zero with a sideways peer. For the first time that Zero could recall, he looked remarkably uncertain. He was trying to calculate something, but all of his formulas had to be coming up full of errors. He wasn’t snapping back with a slick response as quick as he usually did.

 

And, at the end of it, flipping Zero completely on his head: a wildly unrelated answer of Blue gesturing to him with his pistol again. “You carry a blaster, don’t you?”

 

Oh-kay. Bookmark that one for later, he supposed. Mental footnote catalogued, Zero made a low noise. “Not usually, but I’ve got one,” he explained. “Kinda stupid not to nowadays.”

 

“Why don’t I try that one?” Suggested Blue. “I bet _that’s_ better than the Imperial standard.”

 

While technically, he wasn’t _wrong_ (and he swelled with a bit of pride, reminded as he was of his own prowess), the thought of Blue trying to handle the kind of blaster Zero had in his weapons cache made him laugh out loud. “Noooo, I don’t think so.”

 

Blue, _whining_ like a child refused his bowl of candy: “Why _not?”_

 

“First of all, you can’t even hit the target consistently with an Imperial model,” Zero replied. He ignored the undignified look of shock on the other’s face to dare suggest he was anything but a flawless shot fresh out of the gate. “Second, going off Point Number One, the model I prefer is a heavy blaster, which is going to kick _way_ harder than the pea-shooter you’re holding right now. So if you can’t hit with the pea-shooter, how you think you’re gonna hit when you try mine?”

 

“I think the question you should be asking is which will do a better job of protecting me in a dire situation?” Asked Blue.

 

“I’d say it’ll be the one you can actually shoot,” quipped Zero.

 

“You don’t even know if I can or can’t shoot a heavy blaster, I haven’t held one yet!”

 

“Oh man, I am keeping this conversation as a recording for posterity.” Zero chuckled, “And when you break your skinny little freckled wrist, first I’m going to play a recording of this _different_ high-ranking jackass I once worked for, and then I’m gonna play _you,_ because that’s what you sound like right now.”

 

Blue peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “Meaning what?” He challenged.

 

“Meaning as much as you’ll hate me for saying this, you’re pretty much acting like every other stuffy politician who ever hired me.”

 

Blue squared up his shoulders as much as he was able. “Wow, you’re right. I _do not_ like your tone.”

 

“Listen, I know as well as anyone you’re different from all the other fatcats in office right now.” Zero replied. “Except there’s these little things _all_ politician types happen to share, and having no understanding on weapons is one of them. Which is why you have _me.”_ He gestured to himself, hands on his chest. “That’s why you hired me, unless things have suddenly changed and I’ve stumbled into an alternate dimension somewhere. So, you know, those things that you do that make you like every other politician likely to get killed? I’m here to make sure you _don’t_ do them.”

 

Blue started to get one of his pouty looks again. “So I’m sticking with the _pea-shooter?”_ He asked, disappointed. The phrase _pea-shooter_ stuck to the insides of his mouth like glue.

 

“Yes.” Said Zero, slowly. “My point is, _bigger_ doesn’t always mean _better,_ Blue.” He explained, “You asked me to show you how to shoot, I’m showing you how to shoot. But I’m not gonna throw out bad training and teach you on something you can’t handle. Your protection’s worthless if you can’t use it right.” He pointed to the weapon Blue was still holding. “So you’re sticking with the Imperial model until I tell you, because I _know_ you, and this is all you need. Nothing heavy, nothing fancy, nothing with any extra kriffing bells and whistles. Got it?”

 

Blue considered this for a moment or two. He looked at the target set out on the range, calculating every little hole he’d made in it with the practice pistol. He looked at the weapon in his hand. Finally, he looked at Zero, inhaling deeply.

 

“Fine.” He swiped his hand across the command console for the range, and the target piece cycled out for a fresh one with no blaster holes. Which, wow, really? No muss, no fuss? Zero at least expected a _little bit_ of argument, but Blue was already flipping the safety off and taking aim - _really_ taking aim - and following Zero’s advice? Stang, why couldn’t this happen more often?

 

Also, what the hell was he planning?

 

The next time Blue aimed and fired, he actually managed to keep his positioning quite well, and he seemed to finally absorb all the things Zero had tried coaching him on the whole time. And it paid off. The hole he made in the target was the closest to center mass he’d made so far, for all the hours they’d been wasting away. He beamed, and looked to Zero for approval, making a noise as he gestured toward the target.

 

Zero patted him between his shoulder blades. “Congratulations, you just killed a man,” he drawled. There was a small hint of pride in his voice. “Now let’s see you do that like maybe fifty more times.”

 

Blue laughed. _“Just_ fifty?”

 

“Oh, it’s never _just_ fifty, buddy.” Zero replied, “Just...keep practicing. You’ll learn.”

 

So they practiced a bit more, and Zero coached a good while longer, because _someone_ had to pick up the slack keeping this cocksure little mynock from shooting himself in the foot. He did kind of look forward to the next opportunity to watch Blue work, though. It usually meant minimal involvement from him, and it would let Zero forget for a time that outside of politics and social negotiations, Blue was still more youth than minister.

 

* * *

 

 

One month later, after he’d officially accepted his new position as Minister of Propaganda and blessed the first several hours of it customizing his uniform, Blue presented Zero with a surprise in the form of the _gaudiest_ blaster Zero had ever seen, with a wooden handle and a lot of fancy carving and _exactly all of the things Zero told him to avoid._

 

Zero looked down at the blaster, then up at Blue. This kid.

 

 **> :|** flickered to life on his visor. Blue _grinned_ at him. “I thought it would be a proper way to celebrate how you told me last session at the shooting range that I was a regular marksman now.”

 

“I spoke too soon,” Zero said, immediately, with the _most tired_ tone to his voice. He left out the part where he’d kind of said that just to see the smile on Blue’s face after making five hits in a row spaced close together, because that had been a good run for him and Zero didn’t want to be discouraging. Granted, Blue was _way better_ than he was a month ago, but Zero still worried about Blue _actually_ firing a weapon in a combat situation.

 

“Oh, come on! It’s _practical!”_ Blue insisted, “It’s just a bit fancy, that’s all.”

 

Zero grumbled bitterly. “I told you that you didn’t need anything fancy.”

 

“Well, what’s the harm in it so long as I can use it properly?” Blue challenged, arching one eyebrow. “You said what mattered was how well I could use it. Remember that?”

 

Son of a - well, there went that argument. No way was Zero going to convince him to get rid of the garish thing now. It was there to stay. “Fine,” he sighed. “For the record, though, I’m patently insulted you made me take you to the shooting range and we spent all that time practicing for you to buy that awful-looking thing.”

 

Blue smiled wide, and spun the blaster around by the trigger guard, looking full of himself. It slipped off his bony finger after all of five seconds and clattered to the floor, and Zero watched him scramble to pick it back up like nothing ever happened and felt his heart seize in his chest.

 

So it looked like he would be taking care of this hopeless asshole for a little while longer, then.


End file.
